Chapter 2: A Kiss Before Chaos
The Quinjet bucked violently as it skimmed treetops, the sudden jolt snapping Natasha and Wanda apart just as their lips met. It wasn't the turbulence of air, but the turbulence inside the cabin. Natasha’s hand, moments ago offering silent reassurance on the seat, had shot out to grip Wanda’s shoulder as the younger woman swayed towards her. Their faces, already inches apart, collided. Not a crash, but a sudden, shocking convergence.
Wanda’s gasp was lost against Natasha’s mouth. Natasha stiffened, every instinct screaming danger, boundary, control lost. But the feeling beneath the alarm was something else entirely – electric, intoxicating. The cool silk of Wanda’s lips, the startled warmth of her breath, the scent of ozone and fear and something uniquely her flooding Natasha’s senses. It lasted a fractured second, a stolen heartbeat in the vibrating chaos of the descending jet.
They pulled back simultaneously, eyes wide, mirroring shock. Natasha’s heart hammered against her ribs, a drumbeat of pure, unadulterated adrenaline mixed with something terrifyingly new. Wanda’s cheeks flamed crimson, her lips slightly parted, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. The trembling in her hand, still resting near Natasha’s, intensified. The air crackled, thick with unsaid things and the raw echo of that accidental, electrifying contact.
The whine of the engines deepened as the Quinjet leveled out, hovering mere meters above a patch of scrubland just beyond the industrial complex’s perimeter fence. Steve’s voice, calm but carrying an undeniable edge, cut through the charged silence. "Fifteen seconds to drop. Secure for landing." He didn’t turn. His posture remained rigidly focused on the controls, the green-black landscape scrolling past the viewport. But the pause before he spoke again held a world of understanding. "Focus up." A beat. "Both of you." The words weren't a reprimand. They were an anchor tossed into their shared, swirling maelstrom. An acknowledgment. A quiet command to compartmentalize, for now.
The drop ramp light blinked green. Hydraulics hissed as the rear hatch began to lower, unleashing a roar of wind and the smell of damp earth and industrial decay. Cold air whipped into the cabin, a slap of reality. Natasha forced herself to move, the ingrained discipline of a thousand missions snapping back into place like armor. She stood, grabbing her tactical vest, her movements precise, economical. But her eyes locked onto Wanda’s. The fear was still there in the witch’s green depths, but it was tangled now with a dazed, burning wonder.
The ramp thudded onto the muddy ground. Time was a live wire. Natasha grabbed her rifle, slinging it across her back. She stepped close to Wanda, not touching, but invading her space, forcing her gaze. "Later," Natasha rasped, the single word a vow, a promise, a desperate need barely contained. It hung between them, heavy with intent. Later, we finish this. "Now, move. Silent approach. Sector Gamma. Watch the thermal markers."
Wanda nodded, a jerky, determined movement. She pulled up her hood, crimson energy flickering briefly around her clenched fists before she extinguished it, visibly gathering her power, focusing it inward. Natasha saw the shift – the vulnerable girl submerged beneath the lethal focus of the Scarlet Witch. But the echo of that kiss, the heat of Wanda’s mouth, lingered on Natasha’s lips, a brand.
They dropped into the darkness, boots sinking into soft mud. Steve remained at the controls, the jet’s engines settling into a low, watchful hum. The ramp began to rise, sealing them out into the hostile night. Natasha scanned the broken landscape – chain-link fence sagging in places, watchtowers skeletal against the bruised sky, the hulking shapes of derelict buildings beyond. The cold bit through her gear, but inside, Natasha burned. The mission parameters were clear: infiltrate, locate the energy core, neutralize hostiles. But Natasha had a new, overriding priority: keep Wanda safe. Keep her close. Get to later.
They moved like ghosts, Natasha taking point, her senses stretched taut. Every rustle in the undergrowth, every distant clang of metal, was assessed and discarded as non-threat or noted for avoidance. Wanda moved silently behind her, a pale shadow in the gloom, her power a barely perceptible pressure at Natasha’s back, a humming awareness. The kiss had cracked something open inside Natasha, a dam holding back years of calculated isolation. The need to touch Wanda again, properly, deliberately, without the excuse of turbulence, was a physical ache, a distraction she ruthlessly suppressed. Focus. Clear the perimeter.
They reached a breach in the fence, wires cleanly severed, likely by Stark tech weeks ago. Natasha signaled a halt, dropping to one knee, scanning the immediate area with night-vision goggles. The compound sprawled before them, a maze of concrete, steel, and deep shadow. A flicker of unnatural heat bloomed in her vision near the base of a towering, rusted silo – one of the thermal markers Steve had warned about. Guard? Automated sentry?
"East silo," Natasha murmured, the comm bead in her ear transmitting softly to Wanda. "Unknown thermal signature. High ground. Cover my approach?" She glanced back.
Wanda nodded, her face pale but set, her eyes narrowed in concentration. A shimmer of red gathered around her hands. "Go. You're covered." Her voice was steady, focused. The witch was in control. For now.
Natasha moved, a low, swift dart across open ground, using the cover of a gutted truck chassis, then a stack of decaying concrete pipes. Her heart pounded, a rhythm of ingrained caution and the remembered press of Wanda’s lips. She reached the base of the silo, pressing her back against the cold, corrugated metal. The thermal signature was above her, near a catwalk access ladder. Natasha drew a stun baton, the low hum a counterpoint to her own tension. She began to climb, silent as a spider.
Reaching the catwalk, she peered over the edge. Not a guard. A small, automated sentry drone, insectoid and menacing, its single red lens slowly panning the darkness below. Its heat signature pulsed steadily. Natasha didn't hesitate. One smooth motion – a lunge, the crackle of the baton connecting, a shower of sparks. The drone went dark, clattering onto the metal grating.
"Sentry down," she reported softly into the comm. "Moving to Lab Access Point Alpha."
"Clear," Wanda's voice whispered back, closer than Natasha expected. She turned. Wanda had floated up silently, boots hovering inches above the catwalk, crimson energy swirling faintly around her feet. She landed without a sound beside Natasha, her eyes scanning the darkness below, then locking back onto Natasha. The focused intensity was still there, but beneath it, the dazed wonder had returned, amplified by the shared danger, the closeness. The wind tugged strands of dark hair free from her hood, framing her face.
The vast, silent compound stretched around them, filled with unseen threats. The mission objective lay deeper in the labyrinth. But here, on this precarious metal perch, the world narrowed to the scant foot of space between them and the electric charge that had crackled since the Quinjet. Natasha felt the promise of later vibrating in her own bones. The fear in Wanda’s eyes had mutated, mingling with a potent, reckless hunger that mirrored Natasha’s own. This close, Natasha could see the rapid flutter of Wanda’s pulse at the base of her throat, smell the unique scent of her skin beneath the grime of the compound.
Natasha reached out, not with a weapon, but with her bare hand. Calloused fingertips brushed a stray lock of dark hair back from Wanda’s forehead, tucking it gently behind her ear. The touch lingered, tracing the curve of her cheekbone, a silent question in the darkness. Wanda didn’t flinch. She leaned into the touch, a soft, almost inaudible sigh escaping her lips, her eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping open, blazing with an intensity that stole Natasha’s breath.
No words. None were possible. None were needed. The dam broke.
Natasha closed the distance. This time, there was no turbulence, no accident. It was deliberate, desperate, inevitable. Her hand slid around the back of Wanda’s neck, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her in. Wanda met her halfway, a small, needy sound catching in her throat as their mouths crashed together.
This kiss was nothing like the brief, shocked contact in the jet. This was fire. This was claiming. Natasha’s lips were demanding, insistent, parting Wanda’s with a fierce urgency. Wanda responded with a hunger that surprised them both, her hands flying up to grip the front of Natasha’s tactical vest, pulling her impossibly closer. Her mouth was soft, yielding, then fiercely responsive, her tongue meeting Natasha’s thrust for thrust. It was messy, teeth clacking for a second, then finding a desperate, perfect rhythm.
The taste of her – fear, adrenaline, and something indefinably sweet – flooded Natasha’s senses. She pushed Wanda back, not away, but until her shoulders met the cold metal wall of the silo. Natasha pinned her there, her body pressing the full length of Wanda’s slighter frame against the corrugated steel. The hard planes of Natasha’s vest, the weapons strapped to her thighs, ground against Wanda’s softer curves. Wanda gasped into Natasha’s mouth, arching against her, a low moan vibrating against Natasha’s lips. One of her hands slipped from Natasha’s vest, sliding down to grip her ass, pulling their hips flush. The hard press of Natasha’s thigh slid between Wanda’s legs.
"Natasha... fuck..." Wanda breathed, tearing her mouth away for a desperate gulp of air, her eyes wide and dark, pupils blown with need. Her hips rolled instinctively, seeking friction against Natasha’s muscled thigh. "Need... I need..."
Natasha silenced her with another searing kiss, her own need a white-hot brand. Her hands were everywhere, mapped in seconds by a master strategist. One still fisted in Wanda’s hair, angling her head for deeper access. The other slid down from her waist, over the curve of her ass, squeezing hard through the fabric of her tactical pants, then sliding around to the front. Natasha’s fingers found the fly, popping the button with brutal efficiency, dragging the zipper down. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet.
Wanda cried out, a sharp, ragged sound muffled against Natasha’s mouth. Her own hands scrambled for purchase, clawing at the straps of Natasha’s vest. "Yes... please... god, Natasha..."
Natasha didn’t make her beg. Her hand plunged beneath layers of fabric – pants, underwear – seeking the hot, wet core of her. She found it instantly. Soaked silk. Trembling flesh. Wanda’s whole body bowed off the metal wall as Natasha’s fingers, calloused and sure, slid through slick heat. Natasha groaned into Wanda’s mouth, the feel of her almost overwhelming. She circled the swollen nub once, twice, feeling Wanda jerk against her, a choked sob escaping.
"Shhh, baby," Natasha rasped, her own breath ragged. "Got you." She dipped two fingers deep inside, curling them, finding that spot with unerring precision. Wanda’s back arched sharply, her head hitting the metal wall with a soft thunk. Her eyes flew open, blind with pleasure.
"Oh fuck! OhgodNatasha!" The words were a ragged gasp. Her inner muscles clenched viscerally around Natasha’s fingers. Her hands abandoned the vest, one gripping Natasha’s shoulder hard enough to bruise, the other flying down to cover Natasha’s hand, not to stop her, but to press it deeper, grind it harder against her clit. "There! Right there! Fuck me, just like that!"
Natasha fucked her with brutal efficiency, her fingers pistoning deep and hard, her thumb rubbing tight, insistent circles on Wanda’s clit. The sounds were filthy – the wet slide of Natasha’s fingers, Wanda’s choked cries and gasps, the soft thump of Wanda’s body rocking against the vibrating metal wall with each thrust. Natasha watched her, mesmerized. The flush spreading down Wanda’s neck, the way her mouth fell open in a silent scream, the cords straining in her throat. The raw, abandoned beauty of her surrender, the sheer power she offered in her vulnerability, was the most potent thing Natasha had ever witnessed.
"Come for me, Wanda," Natasha commanded, her voice rough with desire, pressing her thigh harder between Wanda’s legs, grinding against her. "Give it to me. Now."
Wanda shattered. Her body locked, rigid against Natasha’s, a high, keening wail tearing from her throat that echoed faintly in the vast industrial wasteland. Her cunt clamped down on Natasha’s fingers in a series of violent, pulsing spasms, wetness gushing over Natasha’s hand. Natasha held her through it, fucking her relentlessly through the convulsions, prolonging the blinding waves until Wanda went utterly boneless against the wall, gasping, trembling, her eyes glazed, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow.
Natasha slowly withdrew her fingers, slick and glistening in the dim light filtering from distant security lamps. She brought them to her own lips, never breaking eye contact with the dazed witch. Slowly, deliberately, she sucked them clean, tasting Wanda’s essence – salt, musk, and pure, undiluted arousal. The groan that escaped Natasha was primal, possessive. "Fuck, you taste incredible."
Wanda whimpered, watching her, her chest heaving. "Natasha..." Her voice was a shattered whisper. Her hands fluttered weakly, seeking Natasha again.
Natasha pressed forward, capturing Wanda’s mouth in a deep, claiming kiss, letting her taste herself on Natasha's tongue. Her own need was still a throbbing ache between her legs, but the mission clock was ticking. Reluctantly, she pulled back, resting her forehead against Wanda’s for a moment. "Later," she promised again, her voice thick. "I’m not done with you." She pressed a hard, final kiss to Wanda’s swollen lips. "But now we move."
She stepped back, forcing her breathing to steady, her mind to clear. She zipped Wanda’s pants back up with efficient tugs, her movements brisk, professional. But her hand lingered for a second on the low curve of Wanda’s belly. "Can you focus?" she asked, her voice low but steady. The Widow was back, but her eyes still burned with unsated fire.
Wanda took a shaky breath, pushing herself away from the wall. She swiped a trembling hand across her mouth, her eyes clearing, refocusing on the mission, on the darkness, on Natasha. A ghost of a smile, fierce and satisfied, touched her lips. "Da," she whispered, echoing Natasha’s native tongue. Her hands glowed faintly crimson, the chaotic energy swirling, but under tight, focused control. "Lead the way."
Natasha nodded, a predator’s smile touching her own lips. She turned, rifle immediately coming up to scan the shadows ahead. The taste of Wanda was still on her tongue, the scent of her arousal a phantom on the cool air. The energy core awaited. HYDRA awaited. But Natasha moved forward with a renewed, terrifying certainty. She had something new to fight for. Something worth burning worlds to protect. And the promise of later was a live wire coiled in her gut, propelling her deeper into the dark.
The metallic taste of the compound air replaced Wanda’s essence on Natasha’s tongue as they moved. Every rusted pipe, every shadowed doorway screamed ambush, but Natasha’s focus split. Part tracked threats. Part tracked the heat radiating off Wanda beside her, the slight hitch in her breath, the lingering tremor in the hand now clenched at her side. The promise of later vibrated beneath Natasha’s skin, an electric counterpoint to the mission’s grim rhythm. Lab Access Point Alpha loomed ahead – a reinforced steel door, security panel blinking red. Standard HYDRA lock. Natasha dropped low, pulling a miniature EMP charge from her thigh rig. Wanda mirrored her, a faint corona of crimson clinging to her fingertips like restless embers. Her eyes, wide and dark, flicked to Natasha’s lips, then away, a flush creeping up her neck despite the chill. Natasha felt it too, the aftershocks, the raw, exposed need the frantic coupling against the silo hadn’t quenched. Just banked. "Cover the flank," Natasha ordered, her voice rougher than intended. She attached the charge, fingers steady.
The EMP hissed. The panel died. Natasha pushed the heavy door open a crack, weapon raised. Darkness and the sterile reek of chemicals spilled out. Empty corridor. For now. They slipped inside, the door thudding shut behind them, sealing them in deeper silence. Strip lights flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows on grimy linoleum. Natasha scanned, senses screaming. Wanda pressed close, her shoulder brushing Natasha’s arm. The contact burned. "Which way?" Wanda whispered, her breath warm against Natasha’s ear. The low vibration sent a bolt straight to Natasha’s core. She pointed left, down a narrower passage lined with heavy, unmarked doors. Lab scent intensified – ozone and something metallic, sharp. Their boots made soft, sticky sounds on the floor. Natasha’s thigh throbbed where Wanda had ground against it. Wanda’s scent, sweat and arousal barely masked by grime, filled Natasha’s nostrils. The corridor felt suffocating, charged. Every step echoed the frantic rhythm of Wanda’s climax against the wall.
A muffled clang echoed from ahead. Natasha froze, shoving Wanda back against a recessed doorway. Her body covered Wanda’s automatically. Chest to chest. Hips flush. Heat flared between them instantly, obliterating caution. Natasha’s free hand slammed against the wall beside Wanda’s head. Her other, still gripping her rifle, pressed the stock hard into her own hip. Wanda gasped, eyes wide and fixed on Natasha’s, pupils swallowing the green. No enemy appeared around the distant corner. The clang wasn’t repeated. The corridor remained ominously still. But the proximity, the sudden press, the remembered taste and feel detonated Natasha’s restraint. "Fuck the patrol," Natasha growled, the words raw. Her rifle clattered to the floor. Her hand fisted in Wanda’s hair, yanking her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat. Natasha’s mouth crashed down, not on Wanda’s lips, but on the frantic pulse beating there. Teeth scraped skin. Wanda cried out, arching, her hands clawing at Natasha’s vest. "Natasha! Here? Now?" Her voice was a desperate whine.
"Yes. Now." Natasha bit down, sucking a dark mark onto Wanda’s throat. Her free hand tore at Wanda’s pants again, shoving fabric down her hips. Her own belt buckle scraped metal as she shoved her own pants and underwear past her thighs. The need was a physical agony, a demand that overrode protocol, safety, sense. She needed in. Wanda’s leg hooked around Natasha’s waist, heel digging into her ass. "Do it," Wanda panted, her voice breaking. "Fuck me, Natasha. Hard. Please!" Natasha spat into her palm, slicking her fingers roughly before plunging two deep into Wanda’s cunt. Wanda screamed, high and sharp, the sound bouncing off the sterile walls. She was still impossibly wet, swollen, clenching. Natasha fucked her with short, brutal strokes, her thumb finding Wanda’s clit, rubbing hard and fast. "You want it like this, baby? Like a fucking animal in the dirt?" Natasha snarled against her ear, feeling Wanda’s inner muscles spasm. "Yes! Fuck! Just like that! Don't stop!" Wanda babbled, her hips bucking wildly.
Natasha withdrew her fingers, slick and dripping. She lined up her cock – thick, flushed, rigid with need – against Wanda’s soaked entrance. She didn’t tease. Didn’t ask. She slammed home in one powerful thrust, burying herself to the hilt in Wanda’s tight, gripping heat. Wanda’s shriek was pure ecstasy, her head snapping back against the steel door frame. "Oh god! FUCK! Yes!" Natasha groaned, the sensation of being fully sheathed, engulfed by Wanda’s trembling body, almost blinding. It was primal, filthy, perfect. She pulled back almost completely, then hammered forward again. And again. Setting a relentless, punishing rhythm. The wet slap of flesh on flesh, Wanda’s gasping cries, the scrape of gear against the wall filled the corridor. Natasha fucked her deep, hard, angling her hips to grind her pubic bone against Wanda’s clit with every thrust. Wanda’s nails raked down Natasha’s back, shredding fabric, drawing blood. "Harder! Fucking ruin me!" she sobbed, her body bowing.
Natasha obeyed. Pistoning her hips. Driving into Wanda with every ounce of strength. Sweat stung her eyes. The air reeked of sex and gun oil. Wanda felt incredible, impossibly tight, hot silk clenching around Natasha’s cock. She watched Wanda’s face contort – lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners. Utterly wrecked. Beautiful. "Gonna make you come again," Natasha ground out, her own climax coiling tight, inevitable. "Gonna make you scream this fucking building down." She reached between them, thumb finding Wanda’s clit, pressing hard circles. "Come for me. Now, Wanda!" Wanda shattered instantly. A guttural scream tore from her throat, raw and ragged. Her cunt convulsed violently, milking Natasha’s cock in pulsating waves. Natasha held deep, grinding, fucking Wanda through the blinding spasms, feeling the tremors shake them both. The intensity triggered her own release. She shoved in one final, brutal thrust, buried to the root, and roared as her orgasm detonated – hot ropes of cum pulsing deep inside Wanda’s clenching channel.
They slumped together, gasping, trembling, slick with sweat and come. Natasha pressed her forehead to Wanda’s, breathing hard. Wanda’s legs trembled violently around Natasha’s waist. Crimson energy sparked erratically around them, uncontrolled, fizzing against the metal. Natasha slowly, reluctantly, pulled out. A gush of wetness followed. The corridor seemed to spin. Mission parameters dissolved into the haze of spent adrenaline and bone-deep satisfaction. Footsteps. Heavy, measured. Approaching from the direction of the entrance. Steve Rogers rounded the corner, his shield strapped to his back. He stopped dead. Took in the scene: Natasha and Wanda, half-dressed, panting, pressed against the wall, reeking of sex. His expression didn’t change. No shock. No judgment. Just weary resignation and a flicker of urgency. He cleared his throat. "Perimeter's compromised. Hostiles inbound. Main squad." He paused, his gaze direct, locking onto Natasha’s haze-filled eyes. "Energy core’s location is confirmed. Lab 7, sub-level two." Another beat, heavy with the weight of interrupted oblivion. "Suit up. Move. Now." He turned without waiting, heading back towards the entrance, shield unslung. The command hung in the sex-thick air. MISSION FORGOTTEN.